Page 24 of Frostforge: Passage Four
"This is why I worry about you," she said quietly when she reached him."Do you even know what would happen if you were caught?What if someone else had seen you tonight instead of me?"
Roran held her gaze, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight."But they didn't," he said, his voice low and steady."You did."
“You’re lucky,” Thalia whispered.
Roran’s teeth glinted in the moonlight as he smirked.“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Roran….”Thalia trailed off, the rest of the sentence caught somewhere between caution and the cold breath on her lips.Part of her wanted to chastise him again, to remind him what was at stake, but the flashes of lightning kept dancing in front of her eyes, mesmerizing her even from her memory.
Roran couldn’t avoid the storm magic altogether.These secretive practice sessions by the fjord’s edge — they weren’t just practice, Thalia realized.They were an outlet, a release valve for something he could barely contain.
He wasn’t just honing a skill — he was holding back a flood.Every arc of lightning he called, every gust of wind that answered his breath, was a reminder that storm magic wasn’t mere art or science, the way cryomancy was for its master practitioners.The storm was part of him.Woven into his blood, his bones.
"You've seen me do this three times now," Roran said."Does it frighten you?My storm magic?"
Thalia considered lying, trying to discourage the dangerous magic, but couldn't bring herself to.Not to him.Not here."No," she admitted."It's beautiful.And it saved my life in the Storm Chase last year."She paused, remembering the way he had electrified a swell of ocean water and sent it crashing back toward their attackers."It's part of who you are."
Something in his expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the residual heat from his magic radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the bitter cold surrounding them.
"I wish..."he began, then shook his head."I regret how our last conversation ended.I wish Senna hadn’t walked in."
"Me too," Thalia whispered.
The silence that settled between them wasn’t hollow—it thrummed with meaning, heavy with all the things left unsaid yet deeply understood.Without a word, they moved in quiet synchronicity to a flat stone near the water’s edge, their shoulders brushing.The warmth of his body bled into hers, a defiant shield against the cold.
The fjord stretched before them like a sheet of dark glass, moonlight and starlight painting it in wavering ribbons of silver.The stillness was not empty — it felt sacred, like breath held between heartbeats.To speak too loudly might break it.
Thalia’s thoughts drifted to her original reason for coming here — Maven.But the idea of Maven emerging from the shadows now sparked something unexpected: not fear, but resolve.If the grizzled, traitorous instructor came now, with Roran at Thalia’s side, they could face her together.Here, with no witnesses, he wouldn’t have to hide what he was.No rules.No scrutiny.Just truth and power.Maven wouldn’t stand a chance.
Thalia remembered how the Isle Wardens had scattered when Roran attacked, how poorly they had reacted to their own lightning turned against them.What a weapon he could be, if only anyone would look beyond their prejudices long enough to see the truth of him.
"What are you thinking about?"Roran asked softly.
"H"How wrong it is," she said."That you have to keep pretending.That's what makes you powerful: what makes them afraid of you."She turned toward him."When I saw you down here that day, when Ashe and I caught you practicing… I wasn't afraid of you.I was afraidforyou.And… impressed, too."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth."Is that a compliment, Greenspire?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
His quiet laugh warmed the night more than any fire.Without hesitation, Thalia leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.He tensed for a moment — then eased, wrapping his arm around her with gentle curiosity.
"Just don't get caught," she murmured."Not until we figure out how to make them understand."
He said nothing, but his arm drew her closer, as if to answer anyway.
Above them, the half-moon sailed on in solemn silence, casting its long shadow across the frost-slick stones — no longer two figures, but one, their edges blurred by the night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The fjord stretched before Thalia like a frozen mirror, reflecting the pale winter sky as her breath clouded in the crisp air.Water lapped against the carved wooden pier where she and her squad gathered, their boots creaking on the frost-rimed planks.The maritime combat arena floated ahead — a roped-off area of the fjord, surrounded by bleachers of floating pine that jutted from the water like the jagged teeth of some ancient sea creature.Thalia's stomach knotted as she surveyed the challenge that awaited them, knowing that victory here would bolster her command record — and failure would only give Rasmus and Sigrid more reason to question her authority.In the last trial, her squad had managed to work as a team.She couldn’t let anything jeopardize that fragile unity, and she knew that the Northern students were likely receiving ravens from their clan elders, begging them to rebel against her.
The cold pierced through her layers of wool and fur, a familiar discomfort that she'd learned to endure over her years at Frostforge.But this was different — the damp chill of the fjord carried the tang of salt and snowmelt, a scent that pulled at memories of Verdant Port's harbor.The same scent that had filled her nostrils when she'd said goodbye to her mother and Mari, when she'd watched her home shrink into the distance.
"Fourth-years, assemble your squads by the docks!"Instructor Marr's voice cut through the murmurs of the gathered students.He stood at the arena's edge, a commanding figure clad in a cloak woven with glittering glass threads that caught the pale sunlight.His scarred face was set in its perpetual stern expression, dark eyes scanning the assembled students with the sharp assessment of a former admiral.
Beside him, Instructor Calloway waited, her silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a severe braid that emphasized her pale, angular features.Those intimidating icy blue eyes — the eyes of a true Northerner — swept over the students with clinical detachment.Where Marr was stern, Calloway was cold; her knowledge of Isle Warden tactics matched only by her apparent disdain for weakness.
"Today's Command Challenge will test your ability to function as a unit on the water," Marr announced, his voice carrying across the fjord without effort — a voice accustomed to being heard over gale-force winds and crashing waves."Many of you will serve in our naval forces after graduation.The ability to command on water is as vital as commanding on land — perhaps more so, given our enemy."
